


Only You

by starsmahogany



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsmahogany/pseuds/starsmahogany
Summary: Not long after the end of the Rebellion, Katniss is still plagued by nightmares and frightening images. She's soon to learn though, that she's not alone in the horrors, nor is she the only one in need of comfort.Post-Mockingjay, Katniss' POV. Originally posted to Tumblr in 2014.





	Only You

A deep void surrounds me, engulfing my body and drowning my senses. I cannot make out what’s a plain surface, what’s a wall, what’s the ground. Everything is a single, washed out color, with endless seams.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear my senses and bring myself out of this limbo. A few shaky steps reveals that there is indeed a surface beneath me, but what lies ahead is still a complete mystery.

So, curiosity getting the best of me, much like it does while I’m in the woods hunting, I walk. I walk straight and see where my legs take me.

Still, there is nothing, or at least, nothing within my range of vision. This certainly isn’t a recognizable place.

Where am I? How did I get here? Is there anyone else imprisoned in this nothingness? What does this all mean? Is this all just a dream?

A thousand questions swarm the confides of my brain as I saunter forward. If this is indeed a dream, it could possibly be a metaphorical spin on the crushing loneliness I’ve been feeling ever since I returned home from District 13.

I’ve lost everything. My sister, my friends, my home, my sanity, my affections, my physicality, myself…

I’ve been reduced to a state of emptiness. The Mockingjay finally lost her wings. Though I was indeed able to succeed in freeing the Districts from the grasps of their leaders, I’ve never felt so beaten down.

The war cost me so much. The war cost everyone so much.

I doubt it’ll ever be the same. I doubt I’ll ever be the same.

Biting my lip, I continue trudging along, shaking my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. And at that moment, I notice a change.

The void encasing me has begun to move. Instead of remaining stagnant, it crawls along, reaching out in wisps. The void takes on a shade of white, slithering around me like a venomous snake waiting to strike. 

It wraps around my ankles, around my torso, around my wrists; around anything it can grab. And when it does so, a searing pain shoots through my body.

My eyes widen with a dreadful realization.

The fog.

Panic overtakes my senses. I no longer care about my whereabouts; my very survival is on the line no matter if this is real or not.

I can feel the adrenalin pumping through my veins as I take flight, reeling for any kind of safety. Any kind of break away from the poison. But it is unrelenting, serpentining after me and licking my heels with its deadly breath.

I open my mouth in a distressed cry, but no sound leaves my lungs. My legs are beginning to wear down. My endurance is already beginning to wear thin. And the fog only continues its advance, just as it did in the arena.

I will my limbs to move faster, to speed me away from the danger, but to no avail. It catches me. 

Around my feet it starts, tripping me up and causing me to collapse on to the unknown surface below. Then up my body it winds, burning and blistering. The white fingers contort around me, squeezing me like some kind of python.

A scream is stuck in my throat. Tears are jammed in my eyes. And my motion is all but halted, as the mist wraps around my neck.

This is all too familiar in many ways.

The growing pressure on my neck causes me to gasp and struggle, my eyes going wide. My lungs are on fire with the lack of oxygen, and my vision begins to blur as I slip in and out of consciousness.

Why here? Why now? After all this time, I’m letting my old nightmares overtake me? All the dreams of the arena, the war, my deranged love-

They’re all true, and ending me just like I feared? I’ve been through hell and back, but this, this is what will extinguish me?

Sputtering like a candle losing its flame, I let out a choking breath as I slip away, the fog completely encasing my body.

And suddenly, it undergoes change yet again.

It releases me, and spreads out in all directions, bathing the void in a blinding white. It solidifies, forming walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

I lay on the ground, inhaling deep gulps of air and rubbing at my throat. I’m too stunned to move, and in no mood to see what horrors await me.

“Katniss?”

That single voice, strung with fear and uncertainty, is enough to rouse me to my feet.

Peeta.

He’s here with me. Somehow, somewhere, he made it into whatever world this is. I whip my head around wildly, desperate to find him. Desperate to reach him.

I don’t see him at first; the whiteness proves to be too intense and too hard to see through. Finally however, my vision clears, and I spy him on the other side of the long corridor, poised in a chair.

After the war, Peeta and I haven’t spoken with one another. He’s fearful that he’ll hurt me, and I’m shutting everyone out, shutting out every remembrance of the rebellion.

But here he is before me, gazing towards me with his shining, blue stare.

He resembles himself when Caesar Flickerman was interviewing him post quarter quell; confused, innocent, and handsome. His face remains untouched, unscarred, looking very much like it was etched by an angel. I haven’t seen him this unscathed in months. And the very sight causes my heart to flutter.

He’s alright. He’s unharmed. Whatever Hell this is, he’s safe.

My legs are carrying me to him before I can process the thought. I long to press myself into his warm, steady arms. I yearn for his sweet scent. I crave his tender, loving touch.

He appears to be the unhijacked, pure, virtuous Peeta I’ve always known. The one not taunted by venom. The one that loves me. And I want him. I need him.

Feelings re-kindle within me. Affections crawl up from the depths of my inner being. Perhaps Finnick was right. Perhaps I do love Peeta in a way I don’t even know myself, because seeing him here before me is giving me a happiness I can’t describe.

But as I continue to run, I notice a shift in his facial expression. His gentle, soft eyes tense up, his face contorting with what appears to be…pain. And the closer and closer I get, the more and more intense the expression grows.

“P-Peeta?” I breathe out, fear starting to jut through me.

Just when I think I’m about to reach him, an invisible force stops me. I’m cemented to place, unable to move any part of my body and forced to simply stare at Peeta before me.

And that’s when I hear the audible sound of a whip’s crack, and his strangled cry of pain.

“Peeta!”

I shriek his name over and over again, tears cascading down my face as I’m subjected to watch his torture.

He screams out multiple times, his face flushing and a crimson color beginning to trickle down the downy, white garb he’s wearing.

The crimson overtakes him, soaking his clothes in blood. And I’m crying more than I believed to be humanly possible.

We must be in the Capitol. The war must not be over like I thought; they must have captured us again.

This must be their way of breaking us both. Holding us apart and forcing us to watch one another suffer. I have no other explanation for it, other than my worst nightmare.

“Katniss!”

His voice sounds, echoing off the confides of this prison. I choke back sobs, straining through my tears to try and lock my eyes on Peeta.

But he is still contorted in pain, and clearly not saying my name.

“Katniss!”

Again, my name sounds, but not from the man before me. It sounds…distant. And while it’s frantic, it’s not anguished. This doesn’t match up.

“You’re okay! It’s not real! It’s not real! Katniss!”

These words overflow my senses, and before I can process what’s going on, I’m being lifted from the depths of my horrors. And, like surfacing above water after being deprived of air, I gasp loudly, my eyes snapping wide.

The white and blood has faded into a soft, orange glow, produced by a single light on my left. I am no longer standing, nor are my movements constricted. I am sitting bolt upright in a bed, tangled in covers and wearing nothing but a simple nightgown.

And after blinking my eyes rapidly, the sight before me comes into focus.

It’s Peeta, staring at me with an intense expression painted across his face. Concern? Devastation? Fear?

My hands fly to cup his cheeks before I can process it. I have to assure myself that he’s real. I have to make sure he’s unharmed.

Along his sturdy jawline my fingers journey, swooping across his neck and into his feathered, soft blonde strands of hair. No blood. No hinting of bruising. Just the scars left over from the rebellion. 

When my hands lace behind his head, the trembling manifests, and the sobs finally break out of my throat.

“They had you,” I rasp, tears streaming down my face, “I couldn’t get to you. There was nothing I could do.”

Peeta continues to stare at me, his face falling as he watches me break down before him. But his arms slowly reach around my backside, gently, yet hesitantly, pulling me into his embrace.

It’s a warm, comforting feeling that I haven’t felt in so long. I haven’t felt his arms this steady for what has seemed like an eternity. I thought he was robbed of this gentleness forever. I had thought the Capitol beat this out of him entirely. 

Obviously, I was wrong. Thank God I was wrong, because I’ve missed his comfort; his presence, more than I thought possible.

I lean further into his arms, curling my own around his neck and allowing myself to cry into his chest. But the fear is ebbing away as he continues to hold me, and it lessens even more with the sound of his voice.

“Shhh, Katniss. You’re here with me. You don’t have to worry about anything else. You’re safe. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

I cling to every word, bringing myself slowly down from my hysteria. His hands slowly continue to caress my back, and his head is now leaned atop mine.

And when I gradually begin to come to my senses, I reach a realization.

Peeta is in my room, here with me, comforting me. He’s in my house. This is the first time since we returned back from the war. And it feels so natural, like we’ve been doing this every single day.

Still, it’s odd in its own respects. How did he know to come to my aid? What prompted him to do so after all this time?

I decide to question it, sniffling loudly and pulling myself away only slightly to gaze into his eyes.

His clear, soft, blue eyes.

“Peeta?”

“Yes, Katniss?”

Hearing him say my name with such tenderness laced behind it sends shivers down my spine. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. But of course, I do not know how to tell him that. So I simply continue.

“How…How did you….”

Get in here would be a stupid question, since I never lock my door; there’s no reason to. 

But I don’t know how to flatly ask Peeta Mellark what he’s doing in my room, and not his own, this early in the morning.

He seems to read my mind however, as I see his cheeks flush with color.

“I um…I was up painting, and of course, my window was open…”

How could I have forgotten.

“And….though I wasn’t sure at first, I heard your screams. And they worsened. I couldn’t leave you in that state, so I rushed in and….Here we are.”

He gives me a small, crooked smile, his cheeks reddened. I cannot help but do the same.

We’ve managed to overcome the barrier of lonesomeness together. This simple moment has already built up so much trust that I originally thought was lost forever. And it’s filling my heart with a warmth I cannot describe.

Maybe things will be okay after all.

I stare shyly into his eyes, noticing my hands are still laced behind his head. It feels comfortable however, so they remain there, softly stroking the blonde strands.

I take this moment of tender silence to appreciate him, to reacquaint myself.

Though his skin is now a labyrinth of scar tissue and synthetic material, it looks smooth to the touch. His eyes that were recently glazed over with poison and pain, are now clear; the blue shining like sapphires in the sun. His blonde hair is in slight disarray, but the burnt tufts are beginning to grow back to normalcy. And most importantly, his once hardened gaze is now delicate, compassionate.

One would never guess that he has been through agony just by looking at him. He’s been able to overcome every obstacle thrown at him; he’s no longer a slave of the capitol, or a prisoner to his own thoughts. He’s Peeta. Simply Peeta.

I must be staring more intensely than intended, because he grins at me.

“What?” he chuckles, keeping his arms wrapped around my back.

My mouth goes dry. What to say. I have so many things on my mind.

I missed you? Thank you? I love you?

“Nothing,” I settle on, feeling my own cheeks growing warm now as I avoid his gaze momentarily.

I hear him let out a soft laugh, one that causes my heart to flutter. But just when I think he’s going to continue the conversation, there’s a drastic change in mood.

I hear his sharp intake of breath first, before I feel his grip tighten on my back, his fingers digging into my skin.

My brows furrow with confusion, and when I look up, I see his body has shifted.

Instead of smiling, his eyes are tightly shut, his jaw clenched and his face pained. I hear his soft grunts, and feel the tremor of his arms.

And that’s when I see it; a few, stray drops of blood on his pants.

A wound on my arm that I received while hunting must have seeped with my fear, and dripped on to Peeta without me knowing.

And it was just enough to trigger him; he’s experiencing the onset of an episode.

I’m definitely in danger by being so close, but oddly enough, it does not cross my mind. All I can think of is how he just brought me away from the scars the Capitol and war left me. Surely I can do the same for him.

“Peeta?” my voice is quiet and soothing, “Peeta, it’s not real. What you’re seeing right now, it isn’t real. You’re here in bed with me. We’re together. It’s not real.”

My voice must offer some type of leverage against the war he’s fighting in his head, because he’s able to tear himself away from me, throwing his body off the bed and jolting to the other side of the room.

His hands grip whatever they can manage, which happens to be dresser, and there he remains, rigid and frozen.

I can hear his heavy, shaky breaths. I can see his visible shakes. I can understand the pain he’s experiencing.

I’m not letting him suffer.

I roll off the bed, approaching him with cautious, slow steps. When he does not move, or even open his eyes, I allow my hands to graze his cheeks, standing in front of him. He stiffens, but I press on, cupping his jaw tenderly, trying my hardest to coax him back into reality with the use of my touch and voice.

“Not real. It’s not real, Peeta. Open your eyes. Look at me. You’re safe. We’re both safe. We’re here, in my house. You just comforted me from a nightmare. An old hunting wound began bleeding again. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

At my words, he seems to relax. His shaking becomes less violent. His face falls. His jaw begins to slack. I begin softly stroking his cheeks with my thumbs.

“We’re helping each other. Protecting each other. That’s what we do; protect each other.”

Thankfully, my use of an old quote brings his eyes back into view. Tears have swelled up within them, and he breathes sharply, connecting our gazes.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, taking a few steps closer and stubbornly ignoring the threat of danger.

The tears are now spilling down his cheeks, and I wipe them away with my thumbs, before pressing my forehead gently to his. I never break our gaze.

“You’re okay. I promise you. I’m not going to hurt you, Peeta.”

He shuts his eyes away from view again, taking deep breaths. And just when I’m about to continue with my consolement, he surprises me by easing his lips to mine.

My eyes widen, and I’m still for a moment in shock. We haven’t kissed without the threat of danger looming over our head in months. Come to think of it, we’ve never kissed like this; just he and I without prying eyes.

It feels absolutely wonderful.

All my pent up affections and hidden desires are released as our lips glide together, our mouths creating a warm friction. I feel his tongue flick against my bottom lip, and I gape against him, allowing him access where he pleases.

It doesn’t take long for our tongues to cross paths, and they swirl together in a passionate dance.

I lean forward into his touch, my hands hiking up into his hair as I deepen the kiss. And we continue exploring each other, savoring each other, appreciating each other, before I have to come up for air.

The second I break away, he breathes tender words against me.

“Thank you.”

Our foreheads are still touching, and I remain as close to him as possible, giving him a ghost of a smile.

“It’s what we do,” I whisper in reply.

“…Protect each other,” he finishes, his lips tipping up into a smile as well.

We sit for a moment in a tender silence; the tension in the room dissipated. It’s Peeta who breaks it yet again.

“You know, you’re the only one who’s been able to prevent my episodes from progressing. You’re the only one who can help me.”

Perhaps it’s because I understand what he’s going through. Perhaps I know how to comfort him. Or maybe, it’s a far more simple, but also more complex answer-

Perhaps it’s because I love him.

“No one else can comfort me from my dreams like you can,” I admit.

“Hmm, it’s like we’re meant for each other or something,” he jokes lightly, completely erasing any unease and drawing a smile from me.

We are in many ways. He needs me, and I need him. No more shutting him out; I’ve realized tonight that I cannot bare to be separated from him any further.

Only he understands the pain of going through two back to back games.

Only he understands the torture the Capitol has inflected upon us.

Only he understands the plagued lifestyle we’ve had to live with.

Only he cares about me in a way no one else does.

Only he loves me.


End file.
